Tom receives a secret serum that turns men into horny, dumb, huge-cocked muscle hunks. He decides to try it out on his bicycling buddy Sam, and discovers it’s extremely effective—especially in multiple doses.
2 parts Added Jul 2011 56k views (#87) 4.7 stars (33 votes) 14k words
Ironically, it was because I’d written so many muscle-growth/ mind-control themed stories that they’d contacted me in the first place—(for future reference, putting web address in author line? generally bad idea.) They’d read my stuff—both here and on the mcstories site—and I guess I should be grateful that anyone’s reading me at all—but because of it, they’d determined that I’d be the right guy to document their “experiment.”
I rolled my eyes—ANOTHER role-play game—whatever. Some guys never give up. These claimed to be research scientists who’d perfected a formula that transformed women into virtual sex-slaves, creating physically perfect bimbos. (Seemed to me that someone was writing a soft-core version of “The Stepford Wives” and needed some creative inspiration—ah, straight boys.) Anyway, these “scientists” had done a market test—under the comical company name “Bimbo Tech”—and to their surprise, demand for the product quickly out-sold supply. I suppose that comes as a shock to no one reading this.
Naturally, being “scientists,” they couldn’t help but start meddling with the formula—and being business men, they couldn’t help but exploit new markets—so they’d created a version that would work on men, they claimed, transforming MEN into virtual sex-slaves, physically perfect MALE bimbos—“Mimbos,” I thought, remembering my “Seinfeld.” Chuckling.
All they required was someone willing to field-test it. And again, they turned to me because they’d seen my stories on a couple of web sites and thought I’d be the right man. Would I be interested in a sample of their product with the promise that I’d write a promotional review in exchange?
Truth is, I rarely respond to the whole role-play scene. Not that I have any issue with it, exactly, but I don’t seem to think that fast. I really take my time when I’m writing a story, you know, making sure the sentences read with the rhythm I intend, being certain the details that emerge continue to paint an accurate portrait of the scene, build the eroticism, all that stuff. I can’t do it in an IM, pressured to fire off another response to “Aw, man” you’re gettin’ so BIG!” every five seconds. How many times can you compare biceps to bowling balls before you’re really done with that image?
But then, I thought that, maybe because this RP arrived in the form of a letter, I could play along and have some fun. Take my time in response. Who knew, maybe it was a good exercise for generating a story? Lord knows, I don’t want to get caught up in another “Pollination” episode right now—
Sure, I wrote back to them, bring it on! Happy to help you out and test-market a sample of your new product. I’ve ALWAYS wanted to turn my close personal friends into unthinking sex-machines. Here’s my POBox—
Was I surprised that I didn’t get another email from them? Not really. I mean, come on, how long before using the words “the internet” and a roll of the eyes explains almost EVERY problem?
I didn’t sweat it. Besides, I wanted to start work on that Cop Story I’d been thinking about—or even get around to my other goal for the summer, writing Part Two of “The Bodybuilding Bug.” (And yes, I HAVE been considering a sequel to the new “Pollination” story—relax out there. You know who you are—)
About two weeks later—with the Cop Story creeping along as slowly as a stake-out—there was a package-slip in my post office box. Something had arrived from “B-Tech Inc.”
“B-Tech?” I thought. What the hell was that? What new supplement had I ordered off—(You guessed it!)—the INTERNET this time?
“B-Tech” turned out to be “Bimbo Tech” I’m embarrassed to say, right there on the label, making it clear and evident that the guy behind the counter handing me the package KNEW it was porn. (At least, I thought as a consolation, he’d think it was STRAIGHT porn—and I don’t know why I found comfort in that.)
I was… SHOCKED that those guys actually sent me something. Certainly glad I hadn’t given them my street address! All the way back to the car, I was kind of nervous about it—I confess. Bimbo Tech—
But I sat there in the front seat and opened it anyway, anthrax, letter bomb or not. It was the envelope-size that one would ship DVD’s in, so it wasn’t like it was a big deal or anything. Inside, a letter from my scientist pals and a small squeeze bottle, about the size of a Visine tube, or contact-lens re-wetting solution, nearly full of a clear liquid.
“Hello, Absman!”—the letter read—“Thrilled that you’re taking part in our study—”
“Enclosed please find sample solution—”—blah, blah, blah—“Drops can be applied orally or topically—”
“Complete transformation in three doses—”
“Questions or comments…” etc, etc, etc. “Signed—”
Well, I thought, THAT wasn’t much of an RP letter. You’d think they were almost serious. I held the… Bimbo Drops—correction, MIMBO Drops—in my hand, turning the little bottle around to examine it. With a dismissive chuckle, I slipped it into my cargo-shorts pocket and stepped up the pace to get to my buddy Sam’s house on time. This side-trip cost me almost fifteen minutes waiting in line.
Sam was my biking buddy. We’d known each other easily six or seven years through the gym, acquaintances in the chit-chat way that develops between guys who work out at the same time everyday. We got talking about mountain-biking one day—my hobby—and he confessed that he was looking for an alternative to running, his knees and hips were starting to feel the stress of turning thirty-five.
So we went riding together one day, and once you mountain-bike, you’re hooked—it’s unbelievably fun, and challenging, and an amazing workout—besides, getting muddy and doing jumps and tinkering with your bike on the side of the trail brings out the ten-year-old boy in all of us. No, nobody has to sell me on mountain-biking.
Three years later, Sam and I were still riding together three or four times a week. I happened to live at the back door to one of the biggest national park systems in the country, certainly the east coast, and the abundance of bike trails kept me sated and interested, certainly in shape.
I was a little bigger than Sam, probably ten pounds or so, but build-wise, we were both ectomorphs, nearly the same, both just under two-hundred pounds, long and lean. My legs were a little bigger, but Sam had the pecs of death. So big, they teetered on the brink of proportion, especially when he was wearing bike shorts. My joke: when you saw Sam enter the gym, you’d say, “Hmm… must be chest day.”
He had a nice body—it was a shame he was straight, which I said to him all the time. “Can’t help it bud,” he’d respond. “I was born that way.”
He was on the phone arguing with his soon-to-be ex-wife when I got to his apartment. I tried not to listen as they hashed it out—thank God they didn’t have any children, I thought. Listen to them argue about equity! He wore only his bike shorts, displaying those aforementioned pecs and his flat, but unremarkable stomach. Too hairy for my taste, I’d tried to get him to shave any number of times, or at least MAN-scape, playing on his vanity. “Those pecs would look so much bigger if they were smooth,” I’d say, stuff like that. But he never fell for it.
Damn straight boys.
While they yelled at each other, I racked his bike on top of my car, next to mine. When I got back in the apartment, he handed me his empty Camelbak and made a “talking, jabber, jabber” motion with his free hand, rolling his eyes. After a “No, Sandra… Of course I did, Sandra—” he silently mouthed, “Fill it?” to me, pointing to the Camelbak. “Use plenty of ice-cubes,” he mouthed next, then said, “I didn’t say anything” into the phone. “No, no one’s here… There is NOT a woman in my apartment… Sandra, I’m not—” Then he went out on the balcony and shut the glass door, cutting off the sound.
I should back up. For those not hip to the X-treme sports lingo—and as a forty-year-old man, I have to cop to having been a little dense about it myself when I started—Camelbak is a brand name, so I probably shouldn’t use it, but… there it is. A water-delivery system—(I love saying that!)—that the rider wears as a back-pack. A bladder, for lack of a better word, with a long blue tube that attaches to the front shoulder strap. While you ride, you just grab the little tube and get a drink. Mountain-biking is rough—you often lose your water-bottle.
So, Camelbaks were the “thing”—any self-respecting mountain-biker had one. Besides the ability to carry nearly a gallon of water on your back, the backpack itself was handy for tools and snacks and rubber tubes and cell-phones. To sum up in X-treme lingo: awesome!
While Sam argued on the balcony, I filled his Camelbak with ice-cubes and cold water. Then, for no good reason other than devilish curiosity, I took out the little bottle and squeezed one healthy Mimbo Drop into the bladder, too. Just one, I thought. Just to see if it would do anything—and it probably wouldn’t. I mean, it was probably water, or at worst, really Visine. In that case, one drop would be so diluted as to have no effect at all. Whatever, it was still a fun fantasy.
After he finally got off the phone—and thanked me for filling his Camelbak!—we loaded the rest of his crap into my car and took off. Though happy to get out of the house, he was anxious to get his truck back from the shop, he complained—he’d been vehicle-less for nearly a week, and it was driving him crazy. “If I don’t get out and find me some pussy soon, I’m gonna explode.”
While I drove, one hand on the wheel, one arm crooked in the window, I said, “It’s not like I haven’t offered, Sam…” and smiled, looking at the road.
He laughed, and punched me in the shoulder. “Yeah, right,” he said, chuckling, rolling his eyes the same way I did when I said the word “internet.”
“You might be surprised, is all I’m sayin’. I got a talented mouth, Sam.”
He laughed. “I’m not gay, is all I’M sayin,” he said. “Though I’m sure you’re talented.”
“You don’t gotta be gay, Sam. You just gotta like a mouth on your dick. Shut your eyes and imagine anything you want.”
“Can we talk about something else,” he asked. “I told you I was horny, not desperate.”
He waited until I said, “Fuck you” before he laughed.
So we were riding—and it was hot, the humidity high. I was sweating like a freakin’ pig. Sam was being unusually aggressive on the hills, hitting them hard on the bottom. It was a beautiful day, but hardly anybody was out this early in the morning. It surprised me—on a weekend day with weather like this, you’d think everybody would be riding, the trails would be packed. But that wasn’t the case. Though we’d seen a couple of people near the entrance, we hadn’t seen another soul up here on the advanced trails, and we were nearly two-thirds of the way done with our ride.
About two hours into it, Sam started to ride a bit erratically. Tentative on rough terrain, I could hear him swearing as we went across rocky sections, like his ass hurt when he bounced. Hemorrhoid Boy, I laughed to myself.
Finally, after a series of roots, he abruptly stopped. His left pedal-clip stuck a little and by the time he got his foot free, his frustration was obvious. He threw his bike down and said over his shoulder, “I gotta take a leak.”
Whatever, I thought. I took the opportunity to remove my helmet, wipe the sweat from my brow, suck down a little water.
I didn’t hear the sounds of pissing coming from behind the tree, though. Instead, I heard Sam mumble, “Mother FUCK” and then come back to where I stood by the bikes. “Dude, somethin’s goin’ on,” he said.
“What’s the matter?”
“Look at me! I’m fuckin’ hard as a rock!”
I turned around to face him and sure enough, standing there sweaty and dirty in his bike shorts, he had the mother of all hard-ons. The outline of it was obvious beneath the cotton-spandex, one of the biggest dicks I’d ever seen—I didn’t know Sam was hung that well. Hell, I would’ve been more serious about coming on to him if I’d known he was that big.
“I feel like I’m fuckin’ O.D.-ing on Cialis or something! This thing’s fuckin’ KILLING me! Ever since I got into the forest, man, it’s been getting worse and worse. I can’t stand it anymore,” he said, unable to help but touch the base of it with his hand. “Tom, I gotta get off. Seriously, I gotta shoot a fuckin’ load. I can’t stand it.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” I said, starting to get turned on myself.
“C’mon,” he said, “do it with me. Jerk off with me. You know you wanna. Look at your dick—you wanna. C’mon—” He began to aggressively finger his package, stuttering his breath.
“Isn’t this a little gay?” I teased, aware of my own hard-on growing beneath my bike shorts.
“We’re just jerkin’ off together,” he said. “We ain’t touchin’. That’s what you always say. C’mon—”
He peeled down the front of his bike shorts, exposing the solid definition of his lower abs beneath the hem of his t-shirt. I didn’t remember them being so cut. Whatever, by then he had his dick out, and it took both hands to hold it, it was so big. “I have the biggest fuckin’ cock,” he mumbled proudly, admiring it as he set to work masturbating it.
“It’s huge,” I said, playing with my own respectable member.
“Naw, it’s gigantic! I fuckin’ love it! Some women can’t handle it, but hey, they don’t like big cocks, that’s their fuckin’ problem, right?”
I remained silent, pulling at my own dick, enjoying the scene. A fantasy come true.
“YOU like it, though, don’t you?,” he said low in his voice, while pounding, “Yeah, you’d love to get your mouth on it, wouldn’t you? You gay guys like these big cocks, don’t you? It’s cool—I know you’re hot for me, buddy. I know you’re hot for my big cock. It’s cool—I like it. I’m gettin’ off on it.”
“Hot—” I mumbled, almost ready to cum already.
He interrupted. “Shit, dude, I’m gonna blow! Holy fuck—! Holy—!”
And then, as he screamed, he shot. And I gotta say, I’d seen guys who’d gone for quite some time between orgasms, and I thought they’d shot a lot, but THIS—
He… EXPLODED with cum! I mean, it was an orgasm unlike anything I’d ever seen before. He blew into the woods, these huge ropes of jizz, spraying up into the lower branches of the great trees. A mind-blowing force, a sexual explosion, a complete release.
He fell back against a tree and caught his breath, unable to stop the motions of masturbation. “Holy fuck,” he mumbled, milking the last bits from himself. “Holy fuck. That was fuckin’ awesome!”
“You do that every time?” I asked.
He snorted. “I wish,” he said. “That was amazing! Did you cum?”
I looked down at my hand and realized, yes I had cum—I didn’t even realize it with what had happened to him! “Watchin’ that? How could I not?”
Sam smiled, tucking his big monster back into his bike shorts. “Yeah, that was fuckin’ hot! And dude,” he said, adjusting himself again as he snapped the waist band back into place, “I’m tellin’ you true: that barely took the edge off.”
We picked our bikes up off the ground and re-mounted. Sam sucked a drink from his Camelbak. “No,” he said, clipping in and starting down the trail. “Seriously, I’m still horny as a motherfuck. Hot and hard, dude. Hot and hard!”
Now, if I thought he’d been aggressive on the trail before, it was nothing compared to the way he was hitting it now. He powered up the hills, took some crazy-shit jumps on the way down until we ended up back at the car just before noon—three and a half hours of riding. It had been all I could do to keep up with him.
At the car, I was exhausted, but he had a fire lit under him.
“I feel fuckin’ GREAT!” he said, stripping his shirt off and tossing it in the back seat. “Dude, if I hadn’t run out of water, we’d still be out there.” He held up his empty Camelbak as proof, then tossed that in the car as well. “Look at me,” he said. “I’m pumped as fuck!”
True, his legs looked bigger, pumped like after a workout—only bigger than that. And his abs, what was up with his abs?
“What’s up with your abs?” I asked from the other side of the car, stripping my own shirt over my head.
He flexed them, showing off his ripped eight-pack. “You mean, other than the fact that I suddenly GOT ‘em?” he asked, flexing hard and running his hand over them. “I don’t know, but it’s fuckin’ hot.”
In the car, as I backed out of our parking space, he said, “It’s happening again,” indicating the growing erection in his sweaty bike shorts.
“Holy shit, Sam—”
“Fuckin’ hot,” he mumbled again. “Sammy’s got a hot cock.”
At the red light, while I was looking out the window, he took my hand off the gear shift and unexpectedly put it on the head of his dick. He leaned back in the seat and said, “Yeah, work Sammy’s shaft. It’s so big. You guys like that, right?”
I squeezed him a couple times until the light turned green. “Isn’t this kind of gay?” I asked, stroking the thing from stem to stern—it WAS big, and I’d held some good-sized dicks in my hand.
His hands were up behind the head rest, exposing his entire torso to me, his sudden abs. “I don’t know,” he said. “Who’s grabbin’ whose dick?” He laughed. “Tell you what, you lay off the gay jokes, and maybe I’ll let you suck it when we get back to your place. Or is that too gay for you?”
In response, I shifted him into first and low-geared our asses home.
Clearly, the Mimbo Drops worked—there was no other possible explanation for Sam’s behavior here or in the woods. And that was only one dose! What would happen to him once he’d had two? Or even the max dose of three? I couldn’t even imagine.
He handed the chance to me. As I parked outside my townhouse, he said, “I’ll get the bikes—you get the shots.”
Our habit—our REWARD—after a long ride was to have a shot together, a punch of alcohol to celebrate our success on the trail. At Sam’s, we usually had vodka—at my place, Herr Jagermeister, the thick, German deer-blood. Mm, mm good! I took the bottle and two shot glasses out of the freezer. After pouring a couple healthy ones, I actually hesitated before I put another drop of the formula into his.
“I can’t believe how fuckin’ horny I am,” Sam said, coming into the kitchen after hanging up the bikes in the garage. I quickly slipped the Mimbo Drops back into my pocket of my cargo shorts. He didn’t see it, too focused on the shots. “Aw, shit… Jager—”
“No one’s twisting your arm,” I said, handing the spiked shot to him.
“I’ll give you something to twist,” he chuckled, taking it from me, winking.
He smiled and raised his glass into the air. “To jerking off in the woods,” he toasted.
“I’ll drink to that,” I said, clinked glasses with him, and tossed the Jagermeister down.
He gasped after he drank it, mocking the taste. “Nasty,” he said. “I hate that shit.”
He loudly smacked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Worse than usual. You clean those shot glasses lately?”
I smiled and took the glass from him. “No,” I said. “Truth is: I spiked yours with a formula that’s gonna turn you into a gay muscle-whore—you know, a male version of a bimbo. A mimbo!”
He barked a laugh, flexing in the living room mirror. “A mimbo… I guess that would explain the abs, then,” he said, admiring them. “And what happened in the woods.”
“And the hard-on you got right now,” I said, putting the bottle back in the freezer, the glasses in the sink.
“I got a big dick, man. And I’m horny. What can I say?”
“Whatever,” I said, making my way past him. “I’m gonna grab a quick shower before I take you home. That cool?”
He continued posing, admiring the additional muscle he’d acquired while we’d been riding—the incredible pump he displayed. “I thought you were gonna suck my cock,” he said casually, then slowly looked at me—seductively, I would say. He stroked a teasing hand along the outline of his rod, adjusted his package.
I smiled back—a fantasy come true! “We can do both at the same time,” I said, adjusting my own growing erection. “Two birds with one stone—”
He nodded knowingly. “Fuckin’ HOT,” he said, a smile breaking out on his face. “And your muscle-mimbo Sammy is fuckin’ horny!”
As I stepped into the tub and got the water running, Sam stripped off his shorts and began flexing naked in the mirror over the sink. “I AM fuckin’ bigger, dude,” he said. “Serious. And not just my muscles, either. I think my cock is actually gettin’ bigger, too. Check this shit out, man.”
He stepped into the shower, his big dick leading the way, almost a foot long, jutting at a right angle to his narrow hips. Then the usual shared-shower fun, the slippery soap, the lathering of firmly muscled bodies, the tactile stimulation of liquid and lust. As I knelt before him and took his dick in my mouth, building a bubbly lather on his balls, he moaned in ecstasy.
“Fuck, yeah,” he said. “Suck that big cock.”
Huge—I could barely deep-throat it without gagging. Taking the cue, Sam started thrusting his hips, face-fucking me. “Oh, yeah,” he growled. “Turnin’ into a muscle-whore—fuckin’ mimbo faggot. See me? Fuckin’ hot—”
When my soapy fingers started toying with his asshole, he shot immediately, filling my mouth with his generous load. I swallowed to keep from choking on him. There was so much, it just dribbled down my chin—Sam just kept shooting and groaning, his head thrown back, eyes closed. He flexed his entire body as he orgasmed.
“Oh, fuck,” he said, leaning against the tile wall and panting, his muscular chest rising and falling. “Fuckin’ hot mouth, buddy.”
I stood then, revealing my own obvious erection. “Now I gotta get off,” I said. “Why don’t you flex for me a little bit and I’ll yank?”
The corner of his mouth curled up in a slight smile—he looked me up and down, checking me out. “Why don’t you fuck me with that hot cock of yours instead?” he asked quietly. “Why don’t you treat me like your pussy muscle-whore? Fuck me like a mimbo faggot?”
He spun around, showing me his backside. “You don’t like my ass? You don’t think I got a nice ass?”
“You got a fantastic ass—”
“Fuck it, then,” he said, leaning against the shower wall. “Fuck Sammy’s hungry muscle-ass. Treat me like your fuckin’ mimbo!”
And so, using the shampoo as lube, I did. I worked my way into Sam’s hot, tight virgin hole and fucked him. He took to it the same way he took to mountain-biking, quickly and aggressively, a little pain at first, but then mastery. Hell, he’d only been doing it ten minutes and he’d already developed technique!
“Fuck, yeah,” he moaned in his delirium. “Just a big hot muscle-whore.”
“Gonna cum,” I gasped, unable to control my thrusts.
“Harder!” he yelled. “Fuck me harder!”
I unloaded in him, driving it deep into his loins. Sam hollered again, and I could feel him orgasm while I was still inside him. “So fuckin’ hot,” he murmured as he spun to face me, wrapping his muscular arms around me. We kissed then in the shower, while the warm water rinsed us clean.
And it went on like that for hours. Out of the shower, drying off with soft towels, he was hard almost immediately. “Lemme fuck you, now,” he said. “Lemme fuck that gorgeous ass of yours!” He stood close before me and flexed his pecs, still out of proportion with his growing build. He reached around and squeezed my butt-cheeks in his hands, pressing our hips together. “Don’t make me force you.”
So he fucked me. Bent over the bed so he could see himself in the mirror while he did it, he worked that big cock of his into me. First some tongue and fingers to relax me, to get me ready, then his slippery, lube-covered cock—felt like the blunt end of a cucumber pressed up against my hole. I’d never taken anything THAT big inside myself.
But Sam didn’t give up—he forced his way in. “That’s tighter than any pussy I’ve ever fucked,” he said, finding his rhythm. “Sweet muscle-whore.”
I don’t know how long he was in me that first time, but it felt like forever on the edge of ecstasy. He didn’t just ring my bell, he smashed it into little erotic pieces.
After filling me with his cum that first time, after his orgasm—his third since arriving at my house—he turned me over the on the edge of the bed, knelt between my legs and sucked me off. I propped up on my elbows and watched him for a while, making eye-contact with me as he bobbed up and down on my rod, but then I just laid back and enjoyed him. He didn’t just coax an orgasm out of me, he DREW it out, sucking me like the last drops in a slurpee cup. Aggressive.
“That was amazing,” I mumbled, exhausted. “You’re incredible.”
“Shots!” he yelled. “I think it’s time for some more Jager! Get this nasty taste out of my mouth!”
“Fuck you!” I said, laughing, smacking him with a pillow.
He nodded. “Oh, yeah. Definitely. You’re DEFINITELY gonna fuck me again!”
We kissed, and I could taste myself on him, in him—time for shots.
As I stood in the kitchen, wiping his excess cum off my ass with a paper towel, then getting new shot glasses, he called, “Make sure to put another dose of that muscle-whore stuff in mine!”
I smiled and called back, “If you say so!”
He stepped into the kitchen right after I did put it in his glass, though he wasn’t paying any attention to what I was doing. Joyfully, he said, “Tom, I just fuckin’ weighed myself! Is your scale right?”
I shrugged, filling the shot glasses with the cold Jagermeister. “Unfortunately, yeah. Why?”
“It’s got me at two thirty-five!” he yelled. “Two-hundred, thirty-five fuckin’ pounds! Dude, this morning I weighed one ninety-three. That’s—” He thought for a second or two, looking up at his brain as he tried to calculate. “—a big gain!”
“You look fuckin’ fantastic,” I said, admiring him, handing him a shot glass. He had the body of a professional wrestler, an exotic dancer, a physique model, a junior bodybuilder—he was an almost perfect COLT man, and his dick would soon reach Tom of Finland proportion. “That’s forty-two pounds, by the way.”
He smirked, “Yeah, well, the only math I need to know is how many times twelve inches will go inside someone.” Looking down at his cock, he added, “Though I think this is bigger than twelve inches now.” Laughing at his own joke, he raised his glass. “To becoming a big, dumb muscle-whore!”
“To Mimbo Drops,” I countered, clinking and drinking.
After the shot, he looked at himself again. “Yeah, I think it IS bigger. You got a… what do you call it—? a measuring tape?”
From base to tip it was over thirteen inches. I was flabbergasted—Sam was ecstatic! He danced around. “Fuck, yeah! Fuck, yeah! Big dumb muscle-whore!”
He tried on all of my thongs, my leather stuff, my rubber wear, my posers, my singlets, my harnesses, my silky lingerie—he liked modeling. It was part of the tease. “Gonna make you WANT to fuck me again,” he said posing in my black jock strap and fishnet t-shirt. “Gonna be the best muscle-whore ever—the biggest.”
He let me shave his cock and balls—and his butt-crack for good measure. He let me man-scape his out-of-control body hair, until his chest and stomach were neat and well-groomed. NOW he looked like a COLT model! I sucked him off while I shaved him—to keep his cock hard, my rationalization—and his orgasms never diminished in intensity or output.
But I just couldn’t keep up. The bigger he got, the hotter he got, the hornier he got—a vicious cycle. One I wouldn’t have been able to keep up with had I been a healthy, over-sexed nineteen year-old shooting testosterone, much less the forty-year old man I was now. Maybe if I’d OD’d on Viagra or Cialis, or taken the Mimbo Drops myself, otherwise, I just couldn’t do it.
At nearly 11:30 pm, almost twelve hours since we’d gotten back from the ride, I woke from a recuperative doze when I felt Sam’s cock up my ass. He was fucking me while I was asleep!
“C’mon, buddy,” Sam whined. “Keep up with me. That last one barely took the edge off! I gotta fuck, Tom. Muscle-whore’s gotta fuck.”
“You’re wearing me out, Sam,” I said, sleepily. “You’re killing me.”
“But I need a cock up my ass, Tommy,” he said. “I’m achin’ for some cock.”
I’d created a monster, I thought—the Mimbo Drops had worked a little too well. Sam was gigantic—awash with muscle mass, perfect body hair, a strong jaw. His cock had broken fourteen inches about two hours ago and it was as thick as a roll-bar.
He was, quite simply, a perfect specimen.
And he couldn’t stop fucking.
“Do me a favor,” he said, pumping into me. “Drive me out to a bar or something. C’mon, my truck’s still in the shop—I don’t know where any of the fag bars are, anyway. Take me out—I gotta get some cock, dude. Drop me off someplace where I can get some cock. C’mon, be a pal.”
I smiled. “You’re asking me this WHILE you’re fucking me?”
He giggled—giggled! “Sammy-whore wants cock. If not yours, someone’s.”
That was how I ended up driving him into the city, to the gay district—not that far, right inside the beltway, about fifteen, twenty minutes away—just so I could get rid of him and get some rest. He wore me out—I never felt so old in my life.
“How will you get home?” I asked while we drove, while he sat in the passenger’s seat and played with his erection. He was able to put his cock-head in his mouth now.
“I’ll get a ride,” he said, then laughed. “I’m sure I’ll get a ride! Look at my cock, man. It’s absolutely HUGE!”
I dropped him off on Charles Street, right in the heart of the gay district, right in front of the Rhino, the big gay dance bar. Truthfully, all the bars were within a two-block radius, but the Rhino was the perfect place for Sam.
Well, for Mimbo Sam.
He tucked himself back in and stepped out of the car. Leaning in the passenger’s door, he kissed me deeply. “Get your rest,” he said. “I’ll come over and we’ll fuck tomorrow. Besides, you got my bike.”
I smiled. “And you’re wearing my thong.”
He laughed. “Right, right,” he said, and trotted off. I watched him, this hugely muscular stud dressed in a pair of Daisy Dukes, open at the waist, making the white silk thong he wore beneath painfully obvious. Boots but no shirt, he looked spectacular. The guys waiting in line outside the bar certainly voiced their admiration. Sam paused and posed for them, flexing his two-hundred fifty pounds of muscle before approaching the doorman. They cheered.
He walked directly up to the muscular bouncer and grabbed the guy’s package. The doorman smiled and wrapped his arms around Sam’s torso—Sam was more muscular—the two big men kissed, the doorman sliding a hand down into the shorts, over Sam’s hot ass, pulling on the ass-strap of the thong. The guys on line went crazy.
When the kiss broke, the guy let Sam enter the bar—no waiting for him, anymore. He was hot, and he knew it. And soon he’d fuck the world.
I drove home, unsure of how to feel. Was I more concerned about the fact that I couldn’t keep up with him or that he seemed to have become insatiable? He certainly didn’t seem to MIND what he had become. Just the opposite, he was celebrating it!
Clearly, I was paying more attention to my thoughts than my driving, because all of a sudden I was lit up from behind—the familiar red and blue lights of the police. “Oh, shit,” I mumbled, dressed only in my cargo shorts and a t-shirt—no underwear, no shoes, my hair disheveled. The whole car smelled like old sex. There was no mistaking what I had been up to.
I pulled over to the side of the road, pulling my license out of my wallet as soon as I had parked. Thinking quickly, I pulled out the Mimbo Drops, squeezing two big ones onto the end of my laminated license, on the far side from my hand.
I watched him approach in the driver’s side mirror—where objects reflected were closer than they appeared—a heavily muscled man, solid, dense, had probably been a linebacker on his college football team—no neck to speak off. Even without the Kevlar vest, he’d be thick—roidgut.
The window framed him from just above his belt to just about mid-thigh, his thick waist, his big thighs, his confident package—he was really something.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asked, his voice rough and deep, authoritative.
“No, Officer,” I said, always respectful to the uniform.
“Ran that red light back there,” he said.
Immediately defensive. “That light was yellow!” Immediately regretful.
“You don’t enter an intersection on a yellow light, either,” he said. “License and registration, please.”
He’s just out to hassle me, I thought. Driving out of the gay district this late at night, this was just a game of Hassle the Fag. Whatever.
I handed him the wet license—he grabbed it before he realized. “What the fuck..?” he asked, rubbing his fingers. He made a motion to shake it off, but it had already evaporated. Well… absorbed.
“Oh,” I lied. “I just put in contact drops. I got the freakin’ saline on everything. Sorry, Officer.”
He shook his head slightly, silently. “What are you doin’ on the road this time of night?” he asked, dismissing my excuse. He could obviously smell the old sex—and the way I was dressed.
“I, uh… just took a… friend home and I’m headed back to my house.” That was close enough. He’d think it was just two fags having domestic disputes.
“Okay,” he said, a bit of a smirk on his face. He knew what was going on—and he clearly didn’t approve. By his attitude, he’d rather have this scene over as soon as possible, too. “Hang tight. I’ll run this and get you out of here.”
“Thank you, Officer. I’m sorry I didn’t—”
“No problem. Back in a minute.”
Because of the spot light and the flashing red and blues, I couldn’t see him clearly in his car. But nearly ten minutes passed before I heard his door open again and saw him walk back toward my car. He had the most confident gate—so sexy. Maybe it was just those big thighs. (And I thought Sam was bad!)
And then, standing next to my door, framing his hips in my window, it was impossible NOT to see the erection fighting the confines of his tight uniform pants. His cock, like the rest of him, was as thick as it was big, a freakin’ beer can.
“I’ll need you to step out of the car, sir,” he said—and there was something new in his voice, something lustful.
As I got out of the car and he pressed me against the trunk, pushing his hardness into me while he frisked me, I thought, looks like I’ll have some material for my Cop Story, after all.
Of course, first I had to write my recommendation for the Mimbo Drops.
The cop’s strong hand slid between my legs, over the roundness of my ass, confidently cupping my balls. Yeah, I thought, Mimbo Drops worked pretty good. They’re gonna sell like hotcakes.
The cop dominated me completely, used me like a piece of meat, but that’s another story. Perhaps cumming soon!
Take it from me, don’t forget to place your orders now!
INCIDENT REPORT Submitted by Officer Tony Bautista
SUNDAY 10July 12:08am Routine Traffic Stop/ rt40 and Rolling Rd.
At approx. 12:00am on the morning of Sunday, July 10th, this officer observed a Plymouth Neon occupied once running the red light on rt40 at Rolling Road. This officer initiated a traffic stop and found the subject—one Mr. Thomas Miller—to be cooperative and compliant, displaying no signs of inebriation or DUI. Mr. Miller claimed to have been roused from sleep, confirmed by the condition of his dress and manner, to taxi a friend home after what this officer can only surmise as an “alternative” romantic entanglement.
When the subject, Mr. Miller handed this officer his driver’s license, this officer noted that the license was wet with a colorless, odorless liquid the subject identified as contact lens solution. Although this officer had no reason to suspect subject’s explanation, given the events of the next few minutes, this officer is trying to make a note of any unusual occurrence during the personal interaction prior to the assault incident. This is the only time this officer believes he could have been drugged by the subject—something in that liquid.
For the next ten minutes, this officer did a computer background check and filled out both the citation and initial paperwork while the subject remained in his vehicle. All proceeded normally. The subject had a clean record—of note, this traffic citation would be his first.
Not until this officer approached the subject’s car to finalize the stop did this officer note any change in self-behavior. This officer was suddenly overwhelmed by powerful sexual urges and a nearly uncontrollable lust. Unable to maintain composure, this officer did commit a brutal sexual assault against the subject, forcing the subject to engage in anal-intercourse and other dominance-related behaviors both against the subject’s car and on the roadside gravel. Blinded by what can only be described as an almost orgasmic masculine euphoria, this officer wasn’t even aware of the arrival of another unit until his fellow officer attempted intervention.
Then this officer did commit a sexual assault against his fellow officer and life-long friend, Mickey Caputo. If not for Officer Caputo’s extensive experience as a college wrestler, he too would have been a victim of this officer’s uncontrollable behavior.
It is impossible to understand why this officer, a confirmed heterosexual, had felt this urge, let alone acted upon it. Prior to this night, this officer had NEVER engaged in homosexual activity of any kind—and this officer had been in a college fraternity, as well as defensive captain of his Big Ten college football team. If allowed a personal observation in this report, this officer finds homosexual behavior both deviant and disgusting. Although professionally respectful of the choices of others, this officer is a normal man, engaged to be married.
That the subject, Mr. Miller has not chosen to pursue legal action against this officer or the department, unwilling even to sign Officer Caputo’s incident report, clearly indicates subject’s involvement in the alleged misbehavior and drugging of this officer.
This officer vows to clear his name and reputation, and return to active duty before Internal Affairs issues its findings. This officer again thanks the captain for his trust and faith in this matter, as well as the FOP for their continued support. This officer will repay these kindnesses.
OFFICER TONY BAUTISTA’S PERSONAL LOG
Monday, 11 July
9:30pm Miller’s Residence
Miller engaged in homosexual activity within five minutes of the arrival of the 2nd Subject.
At 9:15pm, 2nd Subject arrived in a red, Dodge Ram 750. He was not aware of this officer’s stake-out from this officer’s civilian vehicle, parked in the public lot outside Miller’s townhouse. Because 2nd Subject—later identified as one Sam Daniels—was wearing only a pair of spandex gym shorts, this officer was easily able to observe Daniels’ heavily muscled physique and sexually provocative dress and demeanor, initially leading this officer to suspect that Daniels was a male-prostitute.
Able to observe through the loosely shuttered windows, this officer watched Daniels flex and pose for Miller, which caused Daniels himself to become erect. This officer can’t help but note that Sam Daniels’… endowment… was remarkable in both length and thickness.
This officer experienced an erection himself, much to his disgust. Whatever Miller has used to drug this officer, it has not lessened in strength. Worse, it seems to have intensified. So far, this officer has been able to repress these urges, although it becomes continually more difficult. Attempting to engage in heterosexual contact with his fiancé yesterday proved nearly impossible. When this officer was finally able to perform sexually—only while thinking about his contact with Miller the night before to stimulate him—his fiancé complained about this officer’s aggressive behavior.
Watching the heavily muscled Sam Daniels as he sexually excites himself while posing for Miller, this officer cannot help but become aroused as well. Soon, bent over the kitchen counter, Daniels clearly begs Miller to engage in anal intercourse. Miller seems only too happy to comply.
This officer battles his inner urges and desires, but cannot stop watching the disgusting scene before him. For several hours, these two continue, switching positions and activities frequently. Daniels has more stamina and sexual energy than Miller, quickly wearing Miller out. Two and a half hours after their session began, Daniels leaves an exhausted Miller in the bedroom and exits the townhouse. This officer has observed no money change hands, even though he still suspects at this point that Daniels is some sort of escort or prostitute.
This officer confronts Daniels as Daniels approaches his truck. Again, this officer is overwhelmed by Daniels’ size and muscularity. Although this officer is a healthy two-hundred sixty pounds at six-feet, Daniels, who stands six-three or four, easily out-weighs this officer by twenty pounds. Not a trace of bodyfat on his sculpted physique.
Daniels identifies himself and is quick to engage in conversation, which this officer transcribes below:
OFC BAUTISTA [displaying badge]: Hello, Sir. I’m Officer Tony Bautista of the city police department. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.
DANIELS: Not at all, officer. Always happy to help out powerful men.
OFC BAUTISTA: Your name?
DANIELS: Sam Daniels. My friends call me Sammy. My lovers call me fantastic. [Laughs.] I’m just kidding. Well… not really.
OFC BAUTISTA: How long have you known Thomas Miller?
DANIELS: Tom? Five or six years, I guess—I know him through our gym. We bike together.
OFC BAUTISTA: Have you two always been… together? What word do you guys use? Friends? Partners?
DANIELS: Lovers? [Laughs again.] Tom and I aren’t lovers, or partners. We’re friends. At most, friends with privileges—fuck-buddies.
OFC BAUTISTA: Fuck-buddies?
DANIELS: Yeah. Buddies who get together to fuck. No ties. No strings. No expectations. Just sex.
OFC BAUTISTA: And how long have you had that sort of relationship?
DANIELS: [Thinks. Seems unsure.] Not long. A couple of days, I guess. I was straight before that. Before Tom gave me the Mimbo Drops!
OFC BAUTISTA: The what? What did you say?
DANIELS: The Mimbo Drops—the muscle-whore formula! The stuff that made me into this! [He indicates his muscular body. He flexes his arms in a double biceps.] It’s fuckin’ awesome!
OFC BAUTISTA: He GAVE you something that turned you INTO that? You haven’t always been like this?
DANIELS: You mean, hot? Look at me, officer. I’m hot as fuck. Look at my fuckin’ cock—look how big it is.
[This officer is unable to NOT look. He stares with an almost rapt fascination—it IS a big dick.]
OFC BAUTISTA: Um… yeah. Yeah, it is big. Getting back to what he gave you—
DANIELS: What’s the matter, officer? My big cock make you uncomfortable? Looks to me like I might be turnin’ you on. That what’s happening, officer? Is muscle-whore Sammy’s big cock turnin’ you on? Looks to me like Tom’s given someone else a dose of the Mimbo Drops. That true, officer?
OFC BAUTISTA [having more and more difficulty maintaining control]: I… I pulled him over Saturday night on a traffic stop. I couldn’t control myself… I raped him.
DANIELS [smiles]: Really? You like it rough like that, huh? You like it manly—
[Daniels reaches out and grabs this officer’s erection, massaging it through this officer’s pants. This officer does nothing to stop him.]
DANIELS: Don’t fight it, officer. It’s so much better if you don’t fight it.
[Unbelievably, Daniels kneels before this officer in the parking lot, between two big trucks, releases this officer’s manhood, and proceeds to engage this officer in oral sex. Within minutes, this officer experiences an orgasm of an even greater intensity than before. Daniels joyfully and greedily swallows every drop of this officer’s substantial ejaculate.]
DANIELS: Can’t tell me you didn’t like that.
OFC BAUTISTA: Oh my God, is that what this drug does? Is that how it gets you?
DANIELS: What—by making sex absolutely incredible?
[Daniels stands, revealing his own incredible erection beneath his spandex shorts. He uncomfortably plays with it—a tease—maybe his IS a prostitute now. Maybe that’s what Miller made him—maybe that’s what Miller means to do to this officer, too.]
DANIELS: Now, are you ready to take care of this, or is it still freakin’ you out a little bit? You’re tempted, I can tell.
OFC BAUTISTA: I… I—
DANIELS [smiles, pats this officer on the shoulder]: That’s cool. I wasn’t ready ‘til my second dose, either. Personally, I suggest you march up to his townhouse right now and demand it, except I don’t think Tom’ll be waking up for a while—I wore him out pretty good. But do it. Better yet, do it for me. I’d love to get fucked rough by a big cop like you. It’d be hot.
OFC BAUTISTA: Yeah… hot—
[Daniels kisses this officer, grabbing the front of this officer’s shirt and pulling him in close. This officer has never kissed another man before—or gotten another erection as quickly. For a fag, Sam Daniels is remarkably masculine. This officer does nothing to resist. And just as this officer guiltily finds himself enjoying the moment, Daniels breaks the kiss and enters the truck, starting the powerful engine with a deep, masculine growl. He reaches into the arm rest and hands this officer his business card.]
DANIELS: Call me when you’re ready to fuck.
[He leaves this officer rock-hard in the parking lot, forcing this officer to masturbate in his vehicle before abandoning the evening’s stakeout.]
OFFICER TONY BAUTISTA’S PERSONAL LOG
Tuesday, 12 July
4:30pm “Gold’s Gym”
After this officer’s fiancé failed in her attempt to stimulate this officer with oral sex, an argument ensued. This officer has tried not to think about his behavior last night in Miller’s parking lot with the bodybuilder/ suspected prostitute Sam Daniels, for whenever he thinks about it, this officer experiences another wave of this drug’s corrupting power. More frustrating for this officer is his disinterest in normal, heterosexual sex. The more he tries to be with his fiancé sexually, the less exciting it becomes. His fiancé has become suspicious.
While working out his frustration at the gym, this officer experiences a pump unlike anything he’s ever felt before. This officer’s weights are up, his veins are popping, and it’s even possible to see this officer’s long-lost abs beneath that thick column of lineman core. After his… interview with Sam Daniels, this officer suspects that the drug given to them both makes the body physically respond this way, but this officer cannot ignore the euphoric feel of a great workout.
This officer’s workout is interrupted by the arrival of his friend and fellow officer, Mickey Caputo. Caputo and this officer shake hands while giving each other a quick embrace, a strong clap on the back, then an immediate release. This is the first contact between Caputo and this officer since the incident. This officer transcribes their conversation below:
OFC CAPUTO: Hey, what’s up? Damn, buddy, you look great!
OFC BAUTISTA: Huh? What?
OFC CAPUTO: You’re huge! You cyclin’ or somethin’ and didn’t tell me? You back hittin’ the test?
OFC BAUTISTA: Fuck you. I ain’t doin’ nothin’. Just pumped from the workout, my friend—havin’ a great fuckin’ workout!
[This officer teases his buddy with a playful flex, popping his big chest. Caputo laughs and straight-arms this officer away, though he doesn’t find it exactly easy to push this officer around. This officer feels a little more solid than usual.]
OFC CAPUTO: Listen, man, about the other night. I didn’t want to file that report—
OFC BAUTISTA: It’s cool. He drugged me, man. He drugged me. How else can you explain it? Fuckin’ fag stuck me with somethin’. And after a little investigation, I finally got a lead on what it might be.
OFC CAPUTO: Yeah? You tell the Captain, or IA?
OFC BAUTISTA: Nah. Circumstantial. I, uh… ran into a guy who’d been given a few doses of the same thing—also by the same perp.
OFC CAPUTO: No shit—one of those… What was this guy like?
OFC BAUTISTA: Huge. You think I’M big? This guy DWARFED me—and he claimed it was all because of the stuff Miller’d given him. The same shit Miller gave me the night I pulled him over! He claimed it gave him all the muscle—and it improved him… down there.
OFC CAPUTO: Really?
OFC BAUTISTA: Buddy, I’m telling you this as a life-long friend and a confirmed heterosexual, this guy had the biggest dick I’ve ever seen in my life!
OFC CAPUTO: You saw it?
OFC BAUTISTA: He was wearin’ that fag-wear, that spandex shit. You couldn’t NOT see it! It was freakin’ huge!
OFC CAPUTO [shaking his head]: What the fuck, man… so this guy Miller has some kind of formula that turns normal guys into big muscle-bound dudes with huge dicks? Geez, sign me up!
OFC BAUTISTA: Very funny. You saw what it did to me that night.
OFC CAPUTO: Yeah, but that hasn’t happened to you since, has it?
OFC BAUTISTA [immediately]: No! Not like that. But, uh… the climaxes I have had have been pretty amazing. Freakin’ off the charts.
OFC CAPUTO [shrugs]: Then I say shut up and enjoy it. The guy in the assault, this Miller guy’s not pressing charges, so IA won’t do much more than slap your wrist and put a letter in your file. On the positive side, you’ve obviously gained some muscle-size and you’re having excellent orgasms. So I guess the only question left unanswered is… is your dick any bigger?
[When Caputo mentions it, this officer can’t help but reach down and adjust his package, feeling his beer-can dick with the back of his hand—it makes this officer feel comforted almost. Secure in his masculinity.]
OFC BAUTISTA: Honestly? It is.
OFC CAPUTO: No shit. Really?
OFC BAUTISTA: You wanna see it, dude, or are you gonna take my word for it? Trust me, yeah. A couple inches bigger.
[This officer begins to get an erection by just speaking of it. So masculine—so hot.]
OFC CAPUTO: What? What’s the matter?
OFC BAUTISTA: Nothin’. I’m gettin’ another fuckin’ hard-on. Every time I talk about it or think about it, I get another fuckin’ hard-on!
OFC CAPUTO: Poor you.
OFC BAUTISTA: No, Mickey, listen. It fuckin’ HURTS! I mean, it doesn’t go away. It throbs—worse and worse until I finally beat off, just to get some momentary relief. Then if starts all over again. It’s fuckin’ crazy, man!
OFC CAPUTO: I still say this guy has done you a favor.
[This officer grabs the front of OFC Caputo’s t-shirt and pulls him close—aggressively, roughly.]
OFC BAUTISTA [in Caputo’s face]: Don’t you hear me? HE”S TURNIN’ ME INTO A FUCKIN’ FAG, MAN! ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT ARE MUSCLES, AND SEX, AND FUCKIN’ COCKS! IT’S DRIVING ME CRAZY!
[This officer suddenly realizes that entire gym population is watching him scream at his fellow officer. Silently, this officer releases his hold on Caputo and backs off.]
OFC BAUTISTA [quietly, patting Caputo’s shoulder]: I gotta get this guy. You gotta help me.
OFC CAPUTO [nodding sternly]: Okay. Of course. Anything. You know I got your back.
OFC BAUTISTA: Okay. I… I gotta get outta here.
[Shaking hands—making sure everyone saw them shaking hands—this officer hastily exits the gym. Embarrassed, but unable to help himself, this officer masturbates in the front seat of his vehicle, thinking of his fellow officer Caputo and the comments Caputo had made when he’d first entered the gym– how this officer had gotten bigger, gained muscle. How obvious it was. How hot. This officer orgasms with the usual intensity, feeling guilty the entire time.]
OFFICER TONY BAUTISTA’S PERSONAL LOG
Wednesday, 13 July
8:00pm Miller’s Residence
This officer’s fiancé caught this officer flexing his muscles and masturbating in the bathroom mirror this morning. Accusing this officer of narcissism and homosexuality, only able to achieve sexual stimulation by looking at his own reflection, this officer tried to turn the focus of his irrepressible lust and energy to his fiancé.
Her compliance, her softness, her desire for sensual love-making when this officer needed rough, sweaty, animal aggression took its toll on this officer’s usual erection and level of arousal. When this officer had descended from the state in which his fiancé discovered him while looking in the mirror and flexing to the limp, disinterested partner he’d become, this officer’s fiancé stormed out of the house.
Later in the day, long after this officer rediscovered his mirror and his masculinity, she called and left a message on the house voice mail, not even bothering with his cell. She’d intended to stay with her sister for a while, to sort out her feelings. She further hoped that this… change in this officer’s desires wasn’t caused by something she had or had not done. In this officer’s opinion, that was her true concern, not for this officer or his dilemma, but for herself. Best that she’s gone.
When this officer went to the gym early in the afternoon, he wore a sleeveless t-shirt and a pair of spandex shorts that he’d never before had the nerve to wear in public. This officer rationalized his decision by reminding himself that today was leg day and there was no reason not to enjoy the anticipated pump—it was the only benefit of the drug’s influence that this officer truly appreciated. This officer’s legs were already pretty big—no telling what they’d be like by the end of his workout.
This officer felt almost liberated in the spandex, confident—he knew how hot he looked in them. The expressions on people’s faces confirmed that., so much envy and attraction. This officer was used to the elevated way people treated cops, but this was something different, something better.
Since it was impossible to hide the erection he got when squatting heavy, this officer didn’t even try, reveling instead in the feelings of masculinity and power he got by just letting it be and enjoying it. This officer actually invited people to look, or at least made it easier for them to see—this officer’s penis had increased in size by at least three-and-a-half inches, stuffed with obvious difficulty into its spandex pouch. When erect, it was a monster!
Twice during the workout, this officer had to visit the locker room toilet stall and orgasm before returning to the gym floor. Unfortunately, its only effect was to feed this officer’s undeniable desire to lift heavier and grow even bigger, certainly not to diminish his energy or strength, or feelings of personal power.
Flexing in the mirror after blowing out still another set of leg presses, this officer became aware of the time—five hours had passed since this officer began his workout! Not that he cared, or wanted to stop. Quite the opposite, this officer was barely half-way through what he’d intended to do.
However, he also knew that in order to put his plan into motion, he’d have to stop lifting and get to Miller’s house, much as he hated the idea of leaving a workout incomplete. There was a message on this officer’s cell-phone from officer Caputo, confirming that his friend and fellow officer would be in place by 8:30pm. Excellent. Officer Caputo didn’t even mind being bait.
If this officer could just peel himself away from an incredible workout, he and Caputo would finally be able to nail Miller—and clear this officer’s name!
Even with that motivation, this officer had difficulty abandoning the gym.
Now, 8pm, sitting in Miller’s parking lot, preparing these notes, this officer still wishes he were back at the gym pumping his legs hard, rather than here forcing this confrontation. Still, no matter how good it felt, this officer HAD to find the antidote—Miller had to have some clue how to stop this!
At 8:05, after confirming the suspect’s presence in the house, this officer knocks on Miller’s door. Miller answers it and recognizes this officer immediately, even though this officer is out of uniform—dressed only in the spandex shorts he wore to the gym.
OFC BAUTISTA: You act surprised. You knew I’d be back. You knew I’d find you. I had your license, dip-shit—I’ve been watching you for days.
MILLER [tries to shut door]: Oh, my God—!
OFC BAUTISTA [easily stopping door with a muscular arm]: Look what you’ve done to me! Look what you’ve turned me into!
[This officer forces his way into Miller’s townhouse, This skinny little two-hundred pound runt is no match for this officer—he never was, not even before the transformation of the last few days.]
OFC BAUTISTA: This your fantasy, faggot? You like turning powerful straight guys into twinky little gay muscle-whores? That what you’re into?
MILLER: Please don’t hurt me! C’mon, I didn’t press charges! I didn’t mean—!
OFC BAUTISTA: Didn’t mean to what? Didn’t mean to slip me some drug? Didn’t mean to give me so much? Or didn’t mean to get yourself raped? You tell me.
MILLER: I thought it would wear off. You know, like any other drug would… but—
OFC BAUTISTA: But it doesn’t—it just gets worse, doesn’t it? Matter of fact, your buddy Sam Daniels is still flyin’ on it, just like me.
MILLER: You know about Sam?
OFC BAUTISTA: Know about him? He sucked my dick in your parking lot last night. Got a hot mouth, that one.
MILLER [to himself]: He didn’t tell me that—
OFC BAUTISTA: Why would he? Maybe he was happy to be with a man for a change. Or maybe he just liked chewin’ on a BIG dick.
[Speaking of it, this officer begins to experience another erection. Rather than hide it, this officer begins to flex and pose for Miller, illustrating this officer’s point.]
OFC BAUTISTA: See? I’ve put on some serious size since Saturday night, too—and I’ve only had one dose of your fag formula. Imagine what I’d be like if I’d had a full dose, like your buddy—and whoever else you’ve used this shit on since. Look at these guns, fag—like bowling balls! Isn’t this what you wanted me to be? Isn’t this what you fags like?
MILLER: Stop it, please! I didn’t mean—
OFC BAUTISTA: Maybe I wasn’t rough enough on you the other night—
MILLER: No, please! I don’t want to—
OFC BAUTISTA: I didn’t want to, either, faggot, but you forced it on me, so now I’m gonna force it on you. Actually, I’m gonna force it INTO you!
OFC BAUTISTA: I bet your ass remembers my cock pretty good—and it’s even bigger now. And you made it that way. Hope you’ve had enough time to heal.
[This officer has Miller right where he wants him, backed up against the living room wall, helpless and afraid. This officer is completely in power, completely dominating the situation—as a good officer should.]
MILLER [beginning to cry]: Please! NO!
OFC BAUTISTA: One chance, faggot. Give me the antidote.
MILLER: But I don’t think there IS an antidote! I don’t know! I was testing it for its inventors, and they only sent a sample. I thought it would wear off! I swear to God, I thought it would wear off!
OFC BAUTISTA: Tell me about the inventors. [This officer pushes Miller hard against the wall with his forearm for emphasis.] Talk!
MILLER: I don’t know their names, from a company called “Bimbo Tech.”
OFC BAUTISTA: Bimbo Tech? You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me.
MILLER: No, please! I swear to God I’m telling you the truth. They had some formula, turned women into subservient whores with perfect bodies, sold like hotcakes. And now they’ve come up with a formula for men.
OFC BAUTISTA: Turns them all into big-dicked muscle-fags, right?
MILLER [smiling weakly]: Yeah—
OFC BAUTISTA: Fuckin’ bullshit! It’s impossible!
MILLER: But you’ve felt the effects! And you’ve seen what it’s done to Sammy—what it’s doing to you! LOOK at you! And that’s only one freakin’ dose!
OFC BAUTISTA: How many doses has your buddy had?
MILLER [tentatively]: The complete cycle… three doses.
[This officer pushes Miller away in disgust—takes a few steps back.]
OFC BAUTISTA: Three—? Aw, you’re fucked up. You got no sense of morality.
MILLER [defensively]: Well, he ASKED for the last one! And… and he’s a lot happier now than he’s ever been. He LIKES it—he’ll tell you that! Besides, it looks to me like you’ve been liking it, too, officer. Looks to me like you’ve been taking advantage of some of the… benefits. Or have you always been so big?
OFC BAUTISTA [threatening]: Don’t fuck with me. I am THIS close to beatin’ you to a pulp, you little faggot piss-ant, and your little drug’s gonna make sure I get off on it sexually while I do. So don’t give me your fuckin’ attitude, boy, or you’re gonna find out just how rough I like it. You get me?
MILLER: I get you. All I’m saying is, it isn’t all bad.
OFC BAUTISTA: Especially if there’s no antidote, right?
[There is an awkward silence in the room. This officer takes a moment and readjusts his equipment beneath his spandex shorts. This officer’s cock is once again in its regular half-hard state, sloping out and down in a tempting angle. No, as big and sensitive as his cock has become, this officer has to admit it isn’t ALL bad.]
OFC BAUTISTA: So, here’s the deal. “No antidote” means I call the shots. “No antidote” means that if you don’t want to go to fuckin’ jail, you’re gonna do what I fuckin’ say. “No antidote” means we strike a deal—you do somethin’ for me, and I get out of your face, and I disappear out of your life.
MILLER [defeated]: Okay. What’s the deal?
OFC BAUTISTA: My partner’s due to arrive here in a couple of minutes. You know him—the guy who split us up the other night. He was gonna assist me in your takedown. But since you can’t change me back, since you say there’s no antidote, then I want you to give a dose of the formula to him.
MILLER: WHAT? But you just said—
OFC BAUTISTA: I know what I just said! But if I can’t change back, then I want someone to go through it with me—and I want that someone to be my life-long friend and fellow officer, Mickey Caputo. You dose Mickey—you slip Mickey a mickey—and this whole thing disappears. That’s the deal.
[Miller barely hesitates before he accepts, furthering this officer’s opinion of this spineless excuse for a man. So weak, no wonder he got off drugging unsuspecting heterosexuals and forcing them into compromising gay positions. This officer resists every urge to bully this little puss, mostly because this officer knows how much the fag would like it. Instead, they wait silently for Caputo’s arrival. This officer amuses himself by flexing in the big living room mirror to tease Miller. Miller can’t help but be attracted to this officer—this officer knows what a fantasy he is for the subject.]
MILLER: Would you like something to drink?
OFC BAUTISTA: Are you fuckin’ kidding me?!?
[At 8:30pm, officer Caputo arrives, knocking confidently, identifying himself as police. Following this officer’s plan, the off-duty Caputo wears his uniform—without his vest. Caputo is a solid man, thickly muscled, bulky, brutish, built the way this officer USED to be before this officer had been drugged and transformed. Officer Caputo has not seen this officer since yesterday afternoon, some twenty-eight hours ago. Office Caputo’s reaction to this officer’s physical change causes yet another erection for this officer.]
OFC CAPUTO: Holy shit! Look at you!
OFC BAUTISTA [flexing]: Yeah. Fuckin’ hot, isn’t it?
[This officer goes through a series of poses for his fellow officer, who appears as distracted by this officer’s transformation and muscle size as Miller had been. Not that this officer doesn’t enjoy the moment, but he is really keeping an eye on Miller, who is making his way toward Caputo from behind while reaching into the pocket of his cargo shorts. As soon as this officer observes the small, plastic eye-dropper in Miller’s hand, this officer leaps into action—his new body provides incredible athletic ability, better than anything this officer experienced playing college ball.]
[This officer “wraps & stuffs” the perp, using his massive arms to bear-hug Miller from behind, lifting him off the floor bodily, and then throwing him to the ground, taking him down. In the move, this officer strips the bottle from Miller’s grip and tosses it to his fellow officer, Caputo, who catches it with one-handed ease.]
OFC BAUTISTA: Here! That’s the shit! Gimme your cuffs!
[Holding a struggling and panicky Miller on the floor, this officer reaches out for his fellow officer to hand him the handcuffs. This officer takes great pleasure in cuffing Miller—it always gives this officer an erection when he rough-handles a suspect.]
OFC BAUTISTA [growling into Miller’s ear, pinning Miller with this officer’s bodyweight]: I got you now, you mother-fucker. I got you, I got your admission of guilt, and I got your formula—now I’m gonna get my antidote AND take your ass to jail all in one fell swoop. You stupid fag. I’m gonna make you regret ever giving me this shit. You get me? This time, not even my fellow officer here’s gonna do anything to stop me if I decide to give you a little more of what you deserve. It’ll make what I did to you on Saturday night seem lightweight.
[This officer, kneeling on Miller’s neck while holding the handcuffs, punches Miller in the kidney. Miller cries out.]
OFC CAPUTO: Yeah… make him scream. Fuckin’ hot—
OFC BAUTISTA: What? What’d you say?
[This officer turns his head and looks at his fellow officer, standing over this officer’s left shoulder. This officer gets an eyeful of his fellow officer’s erection, growing beneath his fellow officer’s tight uniform pants. Caputo has that same look in his eye that this officer has seen before in Sam Daniels—and of late, in this officer’s own reflection—a look of lust.]
OFC BAUTISTA: What the fuck’s wrong with you?
OFC CAPUTO [smirking, unable to help but touch his hard-on]: You tossed me an open bottle, buddy. That shit spilled all over my fuckin’ fingers!
OFC BAUTISTA: You’re kiddin’ me!
[Officer Caputo very slowly unzips his pants and reaches in to remove his cock—so big, it takes both his hands—all his concentration. This officer can’t look away, either, kneeling there level with the show.]
OFC CAPUTO: This look like I’m kidding?
[Officer Caputo takes his hard cock and waggles it in this officer’s face—next to his own, it’s the most handsome cock this officer has ever seen. When this officer smirks at him, Caputo wipes the head of it against this officer’s lower lip. Keeping eye-contact, this officer opens his mouth to take it inside. This officer finds the action surprisingly pleasurable.]
[Kneeling on Miller’s neck, holding his cuffed wrists with one hand, massaging his fellow officer’s balls with the other, this officer performs oral sex on his life-long friend, Caputo. This officer hungers for the orgasm, finally giving in to the undeniable pleasure, and performs with zest. He can understand why Sam Daniels had asked for the final dose.]
[Just then, his friend and fellow officer pulls his cock out of this officer’s mouth, and quite deliberately, while teasing this officer with it, takes the eye-dropper and places one pearl-sized drop of the formula right on the tip of it. Caputo laughs.]
OFC CAPUTO: Better get that in your mouth before I absorb it myself.
[Without reservation, finally happy to give in to Fate, this officer sucks his partner’s cock deep into his throat. Within moments, Caputo orgasms—though a prodigious amount, this officer swallows every drop, wiping his chin and licking that off his fingers, too. It’s the best thing this officer has ever tasted—immediately, this officer wants more.]
OFC BAUTISTA: Fuckin’ hot—
OFC CAPUTO: Except it barely took the edge off. I’m ready to go again, my brother.
OFC BAUTISTA: Anytime, my friend. I’m happy to fuck with YOU.
OFC CAPUTO: Excellent… but what do we do with your boy, here?
OFC BAUTISTA: He can watch, so he can really see what he’s turned two All-American heterosexual police officer studs into.
OFC CAPUTO [laughing]: Yeah, a couple of hard-fucking muscle fags!
[After his fellow officer discovered some clothesline rope in Miller’s laundry room, this officer tied the suspect to a kitchen chair, then carried him into the bedroom to watch the scene. For the next few hours, this officer and his friend and fellow officer Caputo had the rough, deep-dog, pig-fuck animal sex that this officer had so badly needed these past few days. As these two grew more muscular, they enjoyed themselves even more. As their cocks lengthened and thickened, they explored new ways to pleasure each other. This officer became the king of fuck and suck!]
OFC BAUTISTA: I don’t know. I think Miller’s enjoying this too much. I don’t think this is torturing him at all—I think watching two big hot cops fuck is his real-life fantasy. That your fantasy, boy?
OFC CAPUTO: Stop crying, fag, and answer his question.
MILLER [sobbing, weakly]: Yes! Yes, it is!
OFC CAPUTO [whispering in this officer’s ear]: You know what would really kill him? Why don’t we give him a big dose of his own formula while he’s all tied up there suffering? Imagine turning into something like THIS and not being able to touch yourself—THAT’S torture.
[Although not part of this officer’s original plan, the suggestion is almost too good to pass up. Miller struggles as this officer approaches with the bottle, refusing to open his mouth when this officer demands it.]
OFC BAUTISTA: Look! The little fuck’s resisting!
[Officer Caputo lays on the bed and watches, lazily masturbating. Caputo was in good shape before, but since his transformation, he’s incredible—his muscle-size now equal to any super-heavyweight bodybuilder this officer has ever seen. And his cock! Lord, his cock—]
OFC CAPUTO [watching from the bed, playing with himself]: Drop it on his skin, then. It don’t have to go in his mouth. Just hurry up and get the fuck back over here. I need your cock in me, man.
OFC BAUTISTA: No, he’s gonna open his mouth if I tell him to. You got that, boy?
[This officer punches the bound Miller squarely in the breadbasket. Miller gasps, opening his mouth wide and falling forward, allowing this officer to grab him by the back of the head and pulls him back, dropping three or four drops into Miller’s panting mouth.]
OFC BAUTISTA [smacking Miller in the back of the head with his open hand]: There! A police officer tells you to do somethin’, boy—you do it! Now stop crying, faggot. You got some growing to do.
OFC CAPUTO: Nice. Now get the fuck over here.
OFC BAUTISTA [smirking]: One more thing first.
[This officer rips off Miller’s cargo shorts, exposing the guy completely, then takes a length of the rope, wraps it around the root of Miller’s package, and ties it securely to a chair leg on either side.]
OFC BAUTISTA [wiping his hands in a “job well done” motion]: There! The bigger he grows, the tighter that rope’s gonna get. Now, THAT’S torture!
OFC CAPUTO: Whatever. Let’s fuck.
[Again, these officers get back to business—the business of pleasure, of cocks and balls, of muscles, of sweaty armpits and ample nipples, of rock-hard stomachs and thick, powerful asses, of tongues and fingers and the exquisite pain of penetration—sex with a wholly male edge, these officers could now truly be called “pigs.”]
[Meanwhile, Miller grew, screaming as the rope tightened around his thickening package, his cock getting harder and harder—almost purple from the intensity. Even though he couldn’t touch himself—Caputo was right: the worst torture of all for someone with a body like these officers displayed—Miller still managed to orgasm, shooting off ropes of cum while these officers teased him, flexing inches from his face or fucking right in front of him, or sprawled over him.]
[This behavior continued until Miller was big enough to break his own bonds, to flex out of confinement. Not that the additional size made him any more aggressive—he became more submissive than ever. Miller BEGGED to be fucked, to be used and abused. He was only too happy to serve these fine officers. And serve us, he did.]
[Twelve hours later, as the sun rose on the next day, we forgave him for what he’d done to us, and he thanked us for doing it to him. All that remained was to modify this officer’s original plan one more time. After giving Miller his instructions, these officers gathered their things, confiscated the still half-full bottle of formula—even after Caputo’s spill—and left Miller there, posing in the living room mirror and helplessly masturbating. This officer then called Sam Daniels and informed him of his friend’s condition.]
OFC BAUTISTA: By the way, I’m ready to fuck you now.
DANIELS: ‘Bout time! I’ll be over in a minute.
OFC BAUTISTA: What about your buddy?
DANIELS: What about him? He ain’t goin’ anywhere—and I need some cop cock in me… bad.
[This officer knows only too well. The only thing to do now is wait for the Internal Affairs investigation to clear this officer so he can get back to what he loves—protecting and serving the public. Though this officer intended to submit his personal log as evidence against Miller, that is no longer necessary. Everything proceeds exactly as this officer planned. And now, this officer has the formula, too. When the doorbell rings with the arrival of Sam Daniels, this officer logs off to get back to incredible man-sex. It wouldn’t matter to him if he never did anything else. Like Daniels, like Caputo, hell, even like Miller, this officer LOVES what he’s become. His erection leads him to the door.]
From the desk of
CAPTAIN JONOTHAN PETERS
City Police Dept.
RE: Officer Tony Bautista’s reinstatement
I’m happy to finally send you this note to inform you that, due to lack of evidence or witness corroboration, Internal Affairs has dropped their investigation, clearing you of all charges and recommending you for immediate reinstatement of duty. Further, no record of this investigation will remain in your personnel file. Congratulations, my friend!
Also to let you know that I’ve received both yours and Officer Caputo’s requests for transfer and I’m only too happy to reassign you both to the street beat that includes the city’s GBLT community. It’s been too long since this department has had good relations with the “alternative-lifestyle” crowd. That you and Officer Caputo desire to be emissaries representing this department thrills the boys upstairs. I will have the changes in place by next week.
Hopefully you’ve used your time off for your benefit, gotten some rest, perhaps shed a couple excess pounds around the middle, something all of us would like to accomplish. I look forward to seeing you around headquarters again.
PS—Thought you might find this funny: Tom Miller, the object of the IA investigation against you, applied to the academy! Can you believe it? He claims his run-in with you has inspired him to be a cop! Isn’t that hysterical? Anxious to hear your opinion. We’d like to induct him, if you’re okay with it. Let me know!
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